Scents
by Jessiy Landroz
Summary: Simply just a quiet and normal day in Japan. GiroNatsu fluff. OneShot Keroro Gunso.


I don't think I've thought much of it, really.

I mean, I never really cared about how things looked or smelled before. Not unless it was food and looked and smelled good enough to eat, or if it was so delicious I just cant have enough of it; like sweet potatoes.

But then when I saw him there sleeping so soundly. I sometimes find it hard to frown or get mad at them.

Earlier this afternoon, Keroro went out with Fuyuki to buy a new battle suit module.

Seriously, that stupid frog can be such a kid sometimes, spending his money on things like that. I mean, I might only be fourteen years old right now, but even I don't act that irresponsible, and I'm not that easily distracted, either.

The least he could have done before he had gone out was to brush the cookie crumbs off the kitchen table, and maybe dispose of them in the trash bin where they belong, and not just leave them littered on the floor to attract ants from all around the yard. Maybe even dry the splotches of cold milk he and the others spilt on the floor, while what I assumed that they fought over who would claim the last cookie.

And perhaps be bit considerate and not gobble everything up.

A portion of those cookies were for mom! The gluttons...

I didn't know where the others were at when I came home to find the mess in the kitchen, or else I would have made them clean it up themselves. Fuyuki can be excused because they always drag him into trouble. As for Tamama and Dororo they haven't been around all day, Kururu had been giggling manically to himself about some master plan, which I had no care to ask about, while Giroro was nowhere in sight.

I don't know where that grumpy old frog went, I've not seen him all day.

Curious to his whereabouts after I finished my homework and house chores, I decided to check on his tent and thought that perhaps he was in there.

Of course, I did find him in his tent, but I was surprised he did not jump at me with a gun at the ready, his usual alert and serious self.

He was fast sleep, snoring softly where he laid in the middle on the floor at the center of his tent, a rag in one hand and a gun in the other. The stacks of ammo boxes and paperwork piled around him like a makeshift fortress, it surrounded him in what I assumed an attempt to conceal himself from the invisible enemy.

Inside the tent I detected that it smelled of gunpowder, wax and greasing oil, but oddly enough there was the faintest hint of freshly printed paper and a touch of ink, but also with what I recognized as… sweet potatoes?

I felt my mouth quirk into a bemused smile. It was probably because his tent is so close to the fireplace he kept cooking the potatoes on, the scent of that treat had apparently latched onto the fabric of his tent, it would explain why I could smell it.

But also, I smiled for another reason. He looked so oblivious in his slumber, the serene face and rhythmic tempo, his breathing leveled and tranquil felt so calming. I don't think I've ever seen Giroro this up close before, his facial features looked softer and more placid while he slept.

I pursed my lips for a moment and found myself musing at the tempo of his chest, I watched him sleep and his chest rose as fell so peacefully. After a moment, I pushed to my knees and sat at the entrance of his tent and mused at how different he looked, when he's not all tense and shouting at something or another.

A light breeze blew gently against my back and caressed my bare calves, due that I only wore a short skirt, and it caused a slight shuddering wave to prickle my skin, but it wasn't too uncomfortable.

I peeked out from behind the tent's curtains and watched whilst a few yellowing leaves danced in the air, wind pleasantly cool, invitingly gentle and soothingly sweet. It was late summer and autumn was drawing near, so the weather is bound to get cold during the next few nights.

A sneeze startled me from my thoughts, so I twirled my head to peer into the tent again.

He didn't wake up and just furrowed discontent, sniffled and then turned to his side and slightly curled into a ball in search for warmth, before he murmured something under his breath. I could have sworn he said my name, but maybe I just imagined it. A moment passed before he breathed rhythmically again, soon he was back into dreamland, resting peacefully.

Not that you'll ever hear me admit it, but Giroro looked awful cute sleeping quietly like that. For a moment, I felt like I was watching a child sleep, not some silly alien frog from outer space in an attempt to take over the planet.

My lips stretched in a wider smile, pushed slightly off my legs and with a hand propped over and a bit beyond him, my body poised like a bridge over his smaller form, I carefully and as quietly as possible, tugged at a sheet he kept around to keep warm when he's not sleeping. It was wrinkled and had some books stacked over it, but thankfully managed to tug it without too much noise.

Once I retrieved the sheet, I crept out of the tent to flap it a bit and shook out any dust or such that could have latched onto it.

A man, or frog, of war or not, he's still a man and since when do men keep their laundry clean?

After I made sure it was clean, I folded it on my arm and quietly crept into the tent again to tuck him in, but first I had to get the rag and gun out of his hold first. The rag wasn't a problem for I slipped it out without difficulties, but he had one mighty death grip on the gun.

Given his profession, I'm not really surprised.

For a moment I complemented ditching it and let him keep it, but then wondered if it was a good idea. He has the tendency to shoot things when least provoked, so I really don't want him startled out of his sleep to end up shot in the head.

I placed the folded sheet in my lap and snuck a little deeper into the tent, careful not to nudge him due to the narrow and small space his room provided, but apparently loosening his fingers from over the gun was a task easier said than done.

Firstly, because I was so occupied musing on how tiny and stubbly, almost human-baby-like his hand and fingers were, not to mention his skin was a bit warmer than I expected from a frog-like creature. His digits were small and short, and his palm was a bit chubby, or maybe it was just the way his people were like?

Secondly, every time I manage to slip my fingers into his palm and loosen one finger, once I start to loosen another finger, his loosened finger would slowly curl over the gun again.

I didn't want to risk having my hand within his reach, because I think releasing my hand if caught would be too troublesome.

After ten minutes with that struggle I was beyond infuriated, I wanted nothing more than to drop kick him across the country! But then he had to murmur in his sleep again and look all so innocent and oblivious, I'd huff in defeat. Sure he irritates the heck out of me, but it would be too mean to beat him up when he's asleep and doesn't actually acknowledge what he's doing.

I figured the only way to free the gun from his death grip, was to put something else within his hold after loosening the fingers, but I had no idea what to replace it with. Not to mention that I feared that I might wake him up.

And why am I so obliged to let him sleep, anyway? Doesn't he have work to do? People to yell at, or buildings to blow up? I didn't know he took afternoon naps.

Well, unless he didn't actually plan on falling asleep and was really just that tired, and had unintentionally fell asleep while shining his glorified peashooter? Yeah, that could be it...

Defeated, I heaved another sigh and stared at him while he slept, all the while I ignored the scent of coffee beans and gunpowder that lingered within the warmth inside the small space. There was no point in trying to take out the gun, because obviously he wasn't going to let go of it any time soon.

Not wanting to linger any longer than needs be, I flapped the now warmed sheet since it's been on my lap for a while then tucked him in, before I inwardly quirked tiny smile at how peaceful he looked.

To be quite honest, he looked kinda cute, but you'll never hear me say that.

With nothing else to do I quietly and slowly made my way out of the small tent and zipped it closed, I left a small open space at the bottom to balance the temperature. Don't want the inside to heat up too much, I don't want him to suffocate or dehydrate because of the heat.

After that, I went back into the house to see if I could find something else to do, or maybe check if Fuyuki and Kero are back home. But for some reason, I couldn't help but smile whenever I think of Giroro's face, how peaceful and relax he appeared.

Later that day and after supper, however; I saw Giroro was outside and awake. He was fingering his gun almost absently, before a dazed and almost flustered look appeared on his face when I came near. He had a discontent and uneasy frown on his face, and when I compared his features then, with the features I recalled from his nap, I think I liked him better when he's sleeping.

When he's awake he's always tense and his face makes him look like he's always angry, it can be a bit irritating.

But he really ticked me off when he commented about how I smell, saying I smelled all nice, sweet like honeysuckle and like exotic fruits.

Though flushed and embarrassed at his flirty words, I don't think I've ever kicked anyone that far a distance before.

Old geezer... what am I to ever do with him.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: My first Sgt. Frog fanfic. GiroNatsu fluff. I've only discovered the anime last week, seen about ten episodes and have never seen the manga, so I'm very new to it, but instantly fell in love with the GiroNatsu pairing and decided to this oneshot. Constructive critique and pointers are welcome.


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